Chapter One
“What the hell kind of nightclub is this?” Annabelle Hardin
whispered in her best friend’s ear as they each handed over their fifty-dollar
cover charge and the special invitation Yvette had in her possession.
“It’s not just a nightclub,” Yvette Samson said as
she plumped the fat, platinum-blonde curls that sat on her bare shoulder. She
wore a stunning black strapless evening gown with a slit all the way up her
left thigh. Matching full-length gloves and sparkling diamonds on her wrist and
fingers completed the over-the-top ensemble. “It’s also an exclusive art
gallery. One of the hottest ‘underground’ spots in Manhattan. You have to know
people in order to get in here.”
Annabelle stepped farther into the glamorous ballroom of
Body Scenes. An enticing name for what was supposed to be a unique mash-up of
dance club and art showroom. Thus far, however, she’d discovered the place was
more Plaza Hotel than a replica of a trendy Studio 54-type party spot. And she
hadn’t seen anything yet to warrant the art gallery descriptor. There were no
paintings on the walls or sculptures strategically placed about the cavernous
room. Just excess personified by the elegant décor.
Enormous chandeliers overhead emitted a soft golden glow and
a dazzling spectrum of colors as the light bounced off the cut-glass teardrops.
Round mahogany tables accompanied by stately wing-backed chairs in rich burgundy
leather filled the center of the room where cocktails were being served. Along
the perimeter, the wainscoted walls had mini stages cut into them, the openings
covered by crimson-colored velvet drapes with matching valances trimmed in gold
embroidery.
All very sophisticated and hoity-toity, giving Annabelle
pause. Yvette didn’t do hoity-toity. She was avant-garde and cutting-edge all
the way.
“To get into a place like this, I’m guessing you have to
know Donald Trump,” Annabelle said.
“More like Hugh Hefner.”
That puts a different spin on things .
Yvette flashed a mischievous grin and added, “Try not to
sphincter up on me, sweetie.”
“Retract the claws, will you? I’m no prude.”
Yvette laughed. “Please. You can take the girl out of the
country club, but can you take the country club out of the girl?”
Good question .
As she followed Yvette toward the crowded dance floor,
Annabelle asked, “What, exactly, did we just pay the world’s loftiest cover
charge for?”
“Keep your eyes open,” Yvette said over her shoulder with a
wink. “Something wicked could happen at any moment.”
Annabelle knew her friend didn’t make idle promises and the
thought of something exciting happening tonight enticed her. It’d been a long,
long time since Annabelle had experienced anything that even bordered on
wicked.
Marital bliss had been an urban legend in her household.
Sexual bliss had been even more elusive. Now newly divorced, Annabelle was most
definitely ready for “something wicked to happen at any moment”, and hanging
out with Yvette was almost a guarantee she’d get her wish—and her money’s
worth. Even if it was at a Manhattan hotspot that charged her fifty bucks just
to get through the door.
Yvette was the type of person who always knew what was cool
and trendy. When they were in college together, Yvette had been invited to all
the best parties, by the hippest kids on campus. She’d dragged Annabelle to
most of those parties and it seemed the festivities never truly got under way
until Yvette showed up. Her adventurous spirit and uninhibited nature had led
to some wild times back then and Annabelle was certain nothing about Yvette had
changed.
Annabelle didn’t doubt for a second that there was a good
time to be had here. Though, admittedly, she was still a little confused about
the description of the venue.
“I don’t see any art,” she commented as she was jostled by a
group of people dancing along the edge of the polished parquet dance floor.
Clearly this
“What the hell kind of nightclub is this?” Annabelle Hardin
whispered in her best friend’s ear as they each handed over their fifty-dollar
cover charge and the special invitation Yvette had in her possession.
“It’s not just a nightclub,” Yvette Samson said as
she plumped the fat, platinum-blonde curls that sat on her bare shoulder. She
wore a stunning black strapless evening gown with a slit all the way up her
left thigh. Matching full-length gloves and sparkling diamonds on her wrist and
fingers completed the over-the-top ensemble. “It’s also an exclusive art
gallery. One of the hottest ‘underground’ spots in Manhattan. You have to know
people in order to get in here.”
Annabelle stepped farther into the glamorous ballroom of
Body Scenes. An enticing name for what was supposed to be a unique mash-up of
dance club and art showroom. Thus far, however, she’d discovered the place was
more Plaza Hotel than a replica of a trendy Studio 54-type party spot. And she
hadn’t seen anything yet to warrant the art gallery descriptor. There were no
paintings on the walls or sculptures strategically placed about the cavernous
room. Just excess personified by the elegant décor.
Enormous chandeliers overhead emitted a soft golden glow and
a dazzling spectrum of colors as the light bounced off the cut-glass teardrops.
Round mahogany tables accompanied by stately wing-backed chairs in rich burgundy
leather filled the center of the room where cocktails were being served. Along
the perimeter, the wainscoted walls had mini stages cut into them, the openings
covered by crimson-colored velvet drapes with matching valances trimmed in gold
embroidery.
All very sophisticated and hoity-toity, giving Annabelle
pause. Yvette didn’t do hoity-toity. She was avant-garde and cutting-edge all
the way.
“To get into a place like this, I’m guessing you have to
know Donald Trump,” Annabelle said.
“More like Hugh Hefner.”
That puts a different spin on things .
Yvette flashed a mischievous grin and added, “Try not to
sphincter up on me, sweetie.”
“Retract the claws, will you? I’m no prude.”
Yvette laughed. “Please. You can take the girl out of the
country club, but can you take the country club out of the girl?”
Good question .
As she followed Yvette toward the crowded dance floor,
Annabelle asked, “What, exactly, did we just pay the world’s loftiest cover
charge for?”
“Keep your eyes open,” Yvette said over her shoulder with a
wink. “Something wicked could happen at any moment.”
Annabelle knew her friend didn’t make idle promises and the
thought of something exciting happening tonight enticed her. It’d been a long,
long time since Annabelle had experienced anything that even bordered on
wicked.
Marital bliss had been an urban legend in her household.
Sexual bliss had been even more elusive. Now newly divorced, Annabelle was most
definitely ready for “something wicked to happen at any moment”, and hanging
out with Yvette was almost a guarantee she’d get her wish—and her money’s
worth. Even if it was at a Manhattan hotspot that charged her fifty bucks just
to get through the door.
Yvette was the type of person who always knew what was cool
and trendy. When they were in college together, Yvette had been invited to all
the best parties, by the hippest kids on campus. She’d dragged Annabelle to
most of those parties and it seemed the festivities never truly got under way
until Yvette showed up. Her adventurous spirit and uninhibited nature had led
to some wild times back then and Annabelle was certain nothing about Yvette had
changed.
Annabelle didn’t doubt for a second that there was a good
time to be had here. Though, admittedly, she was still a little confused about
the description of the venue.
“I don’t see any art,” she commented as she was jostled by a
group of people dancing along the edge of the polished parquet dance floor.
Clearly this
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